


Regrets and Red Lines

by Missintroverted



Series: Mystery Trio AU [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Regret, but not the sexy kind, fiddlestan, rope burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missintroverted/pseuds/Missintroverted
Summary: After Fiddleford almost got kidnapped by the gnomes of Gravity Falls, Stanley tends to his wounds.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket/Stan Pines
Series: Mystery Trio AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878319
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Regrets and Red Lines

**Author's Note:**

> A very short ficlet on a soft Fiddlestan moment set before the events of "Of Monsters and McGuckets". I planned to put this flashback in that fic, but it interrupted the flow, so I decided to put it here for everyone's Fiddlestan needs. You don't need to read the other fic to understand it, but it helps.

The lines stood out against Fidd’s skin like blood on a patch of snow. Even after scrubbing his wounds clean with soap until his boyfriend had almost passed out from the pain, they still remained as ugly as ever. It had gotten even worse once Stan had to pick up some bits of rope from the wounds. The room smelled sharply of antiseptic. 

The two of them were quiet, with Stan concentrating on his work, Fidds only interrupting the silence with a whimper or grunt of pain. Even on painkillers, he knew Fidds was two good seconds away from passing out, biting his bottom lip so hard it marked the pink flesh on his lip.

“Ya sure ya don’t wanna go to the doctor?” said Stan, carefully wrapping gauze tape around the wounds.

“An’ tell ‘im what, exactly? That I was gagged by a bunch of no-good, tiny little men in red hats? They’ll have me locked up faster than I would be able to tip a cow.”

“I swear you’re makin’ up your weird southern slang as you go.”

Fidds managed a smile. “Perhaps.” He hissed as Stan touched a particularly sensitive cut under his wrist.

“Sorry,” said Stan. “Just don’t want these falling off.”

“Yer fine," he said between grit teeth. Beads of sweat littered his forehead. 

Stan cut off the last bit of gauze. “There. All patched up.”

Fiddleford brought one of his wrists closer to his face for inspection. “Yer mighty good at this.”

Stan shrugged, avoiding his boyfriend’s gaze as he put the supplies back in the beat-up first aid kit they had in the shack. “Ya gotta be good at first aid when ya get into as many fights as I do.”

“Bruises ain’t the same as rope burns, Stanley.”

He where Fidds was going with this. There had been five years where Stanley had been homeless before Ford had called and they had started talking to each other again. In that time, Stan had upset some of the wrong people, half by just being a good enough boxer that people wanted to sabotage him, half because of some bad decisions of his own. He had to learn real quick how to deal with a lot more than just rope burns.

He knew Fidds had an idea of some of the stuff he’d gone through, and he also knew that it was probably in both of their best interest that Stan not tell him.

“Don’t worry about it, Fiddlenerd. The important thing is I can patch ya up.” He smiled at him, hoping that the gesture would lighten the mood a little, or at least coax a smile out of Fidds. 

But his boyfriend frowned. “I suppose.” Now that Stanley had a good look at him, he could see that the man was getting paler by the second, his body trembling. Gently, Stan made Fidds lie on their shared bed. The springs protested as he got into bed next to the smaller man and pulled him close, his chest on Fidd’s back. The recently washed hair plastered against the back of the man's neck smelled like his cheap almond shampoo. Stan took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet and comforting scent. "I ever find those bastards anywhere near you ever again, I’m gonna run them over with my car.”

“I’m fine, now Stanley. Really.” He pressed closer to Stan and let him drape an arm around his waist. “As long as yer here with me.”

Fidds head got heavier on the pillow. Stan rubbed slow circles on his partner’s back as he watched him fall asleep.

His peaceful expression was such a contrast to the wide, bulging eyes he had when Stanley had found him. A red-faced, gagged Fiddleford with dirt-covered clothing was a sight he hoped he’d never have to see again. While Stan was glad that Fidds struggled and slowed his captors down enough for Ford and him to catch up, anybody who knew about rope could tell you why pulling at it was a bad idea. He also knew that panic was a bitch, and Fidds couldn’t help the fact that he’d fought back in the only way available, even if that way involved him getting rope dug into his skin.

"I'm so sorry, Fidds," he murmured, knowing that the man couldn't hear him.

Stan hadn't been able to stop saying it after they'd fought off the gnomes and brought Fidds home. Even Ford, who could be denser than a bag of bricks when it came to Fidd’s anxiety, had apologized over and over again for leaving him alone with the little bastards while he went to get his tape measurer.

And where had Stan been when his boyfriend had gotten taken? Sleeping off a fucking hangover. It hadn’t been until Ford had shoved him off the bed, hair messed up and glasses almost falling off his nose as he explained the situation, that Stan had even known something went wrong.

This was his fault. He knew his nerd brother and boyfriend couldn’t fight for shit. Stanford usually resorted to outsmarting monsters if he needed to, but that only worked half of the time. Stanley was there for when their smarts couldn’t save him. That’s what he was good at.

And he’d failed.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, it gets better for both of them.


End file.
